


Save Me From Myself

by DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A lot of feels, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Laura Hale, BAMF Stiles, Derek Being an Idiot, Derek Hale Saves The Day, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is a Failwolf, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Help, Humans vs. Werewolves, Hurt Danny Mahealani, Hurt Lydia, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Malia Doesn't Exist, Maybe - Freeform, Nerd Stiles, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Derek, POV Multiple, POV Stiles, Pack Feels, Poor Stiles, Possible Character Death, Possible Sterek, Protective Derek, Psychological Trauma, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sorry Not Sorry, Star Trek References, Stiles Leaves the Pack, Summer, Teenagers, The Pack Being Idiots, Very AU, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolves, Why Did I Write This?, You Have Been Warned, adding tags as I go, did i mention the feels, first fic, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:20:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl/pseuds/DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m a porcelain doll, frozen and cold, the same expression etched into my features and the same thoughts running through my head. I won’t bend under force or pressure, I’ll break. Shatter. And on bad days, I not even sure that I mind leaving the others to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So We Go Our Separate Ways...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, I don't own Teen Wolf *sighs*... But I do own all OCs and the plot of this story. *laughs hysterically* This is my first fic, so try not to judge to hard!  
> \\_(⊙﹏⊙✿)_/  
> Tell me what you think!

** Stiles’ Point Of View:  **

They didn’t break me. I wish they had only broken me, because nothing is broken that can’t be fixed. But no, they didn’t just break me. They _sucked me dry_. They hollowed me out to a shell, until there was nothing _left_ to break.

Some mornings I wake up and feel like I’m floating above my body; seeing every scar; every bruise, every freckle, every line, everything that makes me _myself_. I don’t know who I am anymore. Who the pack left behind.

 Everybody in Beacon Hills knows who I am. I'm the kid who’s good, but not good _enough_. The one who got abandoned,  traded in for a shinier model. I mean, the Hale Pack probably has a whole bunch of new token humans by now. I’m just the one that hovers in hallways, skulks in shadows, mutters about loneliness in the back of a classroom that is as good as empty to me. They were the only ones who mattered.

And I know what I must look like: an endless collection of graphic t-shirts, ripped jeans worn for a week in a row, and scruffy hair sticking up in fluffy, gel-less spikes on my head. I look like a loser, like I got what I deserved. I’m so empty. I feel paper-thin. You could tear me apart just by staring too long. But nobody stares, anymore. But they  _whispermuttermumblelaughgigglesnortchattermurmur_ until I’m _screaming_ inside. Because these days, I just can’t get the words _out_.

***

When the werewolves left town they made it very clear that I would not be joining them. Made it obvious that I was too slow, too loud, too frail, too damn _human_ to run with them. So they left. Just like that. Like I was some sort of stranger. A loose end too be tied up and forgotten but I was left tangled, jumbled, too twisted to try and fix anything.

Not one of those animals, not even Scott, said goodbye. Apart from Derek, and he doesn’t count, because the last words he said to me were; “Look… I’d tell you I’m sorry, but it’s your own fault. You’re human Stiles, and an unpredictable one at that.” Then he left, with the rest. He didn’t even close the door on his way out. What a gentleman. I’m really going to miss his sparkling wit, illustrious way with words and our long, meaningful, intellectual conversations. Funny thing is, behind the jokes, I really do miss him. All of them.

No, but seriously, the person who made that “sticks and stones” saying obviously never went to high school. Sarcasm is, or was, my only defense when amongst suspiciously heavy-eyebrowed individuals who get strangely fluffy once a month, so it could be considered an art I have perfected. Sorry, I’m going into too much detail, on a tangent if you will, but this is the only way I can tell my story seeing as I have no friends left. The only way I managed to introduce myself to my only bro, Scotty dearest, was by sniffing a beaker of orange juice up my nose in kindergarten to impress him. I’m not holding out too much hope. It was through a straw, by the way, and my nose burnt like hell for days after. But still, totally worth it!

I, Stiles Stilinski, (Hah! You thought I was finally going to tell you my real name, didn’t you! But no, alas, you are not the chosen one. Which cold be a good thing or a bad thing depending on whether you love LOTR or HP more… meaning, it’d be cool to save the wizarding world, but decidedly less cool to have to drag yourself all the way to Mordor to drop some jewellery into a mountain. Oops, another tangent - I like that word, it sounds like tangerine, and Christmas- Yeeeeah... my ADHD is starting to show.) am a pretty impressive researcher, if I do say so myself, and I thought that maybe I would be kept around for that reason, even if only for that reason. Like some glorified pet. I’m kind of like a weird Spock/Lisa Simpson/Sheldon Cooper hybrid, minus the ears; starfish skull and terrible dress sense, (I’m not that bad, despite Danny’s protestations; _“Stiles please, I cannot be seen with somebody who dresses like the pre-magical-transformation, first year Hermione Granger, when you clearly have the potential to be the prettiest girl at the ball!”_ ) and basically everything that makes those characters in anyway unusual. I’ve got enough quirks and eccentricity without adding ‘incapable of feeling emotions’ to that list. Though that’s a funny thing to say, considering this is the best I’ve felt in weeks, but let’s be real here, I’ve always been a little damaged. Growing up without my mother, socially inept, diagnosed with ADHD at a young age: I’m a poster teen for anxiety groups.

 Logically, I know I’m not alone. Danny and Lyds got left behind and they’re missing the others too… but they aren’t losers like me. They’ll make new friends, move on; realise that it will get better. But me? C’mon man, I dunno what the hell I’m doing anymore. How can anyone, let alone I myself, expect me to move on when the wounds have only just stopped bleeding? I ‘m not the kind of guy who can just go out and make friends. I lack the finesse, the tact. For me it’s… _hard_. And it’s harder now; when the only people, aside from my father, who I’ve ever trusted, just up and left. No looking back…

 

 **Derek’s Point Of View** :

Leaving him behind was my decision… I know that. I know that the pack blames me, even though they know. We all know that it had to be done. It’s on days like this that I despise being an alpha. On days when I feel that my knees might buckle under the weight of their saddened gazes. I even saw Erica, brave, beautiful, fearless Erica cry on the day we left.

I couldn’t ignore the signs. Yes, Stiles is strong. Well… his mind is. But his body? It’s too thin, too fragile, too destructible. The violet skin under his eyes was too dark to be written off as only one bad night’s sleep, and I couldn’t grab his wrists to hold him back from doing something stupid anymore. I was afraid I would break them.

 Stiles was, is, and always will be childish. Our little human mascot never stopped talking, cracking bad jokes, bad ones at best. He is the kind of person that wouldn’t shut up if you glued his mouth shut. But it broke my heart when I lied to him. The incomprehension, the way he assumed the big bad werewolf was finally making a joke. Stilinski, naïve as he was, had a habit of always assuming the best in people. The way the uncertain humour in his eyes gave way to shock almost crumbled my resolve, his pupils dilating and his heart coming alive in his chest. Fear or anger? I could never tell. I forced razor sharp words through my lips, pulled them in a snarl, and ran away, as fast as my legs would carry me.

I didn’t look back.

I _couldn’t_ look back, for fear of running to his window and crashing into his room, tearing down his ridiculous posters, destroying all of the overpriced memorabilia in a rage at a world that forced me to leave the overexcited teen behind. I destroyed the last of the old pack house’s ruins instead.

We all try to convince ourselves that we have nothing left in Beacon Hills, but some days we still feel Stiles’ pain coiling in our own chests. The only thing that stops Scott racing back to his best friend is the fact that although he feels pain, it’s the emotional pain of loss, not actual injury or fear. When the Hale Pack left their territory, so did their enemies. Our new territory is just south of the Fall Pack reserve, although we are not particularly welcome here, because all werewolves of America know that where Hale-wolves go, trouble follows.

Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Allison (Who left with us because it was either that or become a hunter; the kind that mercilessly kills all werewolves. Her father would have made sure of it, but she didn’t think he’d miss her, ‘disgrace’ that she was.) and even Scott were starting school next week. Some place called "Harris High". The pack are all reluctant, for various reasons. Isaac and Allison are shy and nervous, Erica and Boyd don't think there's any point and Scott can't bear the thought of sitting in an enclosed space for hours on end without Stiles' incessant muttering to amuse him. I don't talk much. I listen though, and pay attention. I know that Stiles' mind races too fast for him to keep up sometimes; that Boyd doesn't say a lot but when he does it's all meaningful and, some days, Isaac is balancing on edge I don't want to see him fall from. I know that Erica blames me, and Scott blames himself. I know that it's harder to keep it together, to be patient when Stiles isn't around to diffuse the tension. But it's better like this.

I hope it's better like this.

_It has to be better like this…_


	2. Chapter Two: I Said I Didn’t Need You, ‘Cause I Thought You’d Always Be There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos! I'll try and update this as much as I can, [If anyone is interested in reading the rest after this chapter- I'm not too sure about it... :(] but I don't have a lot of free time. I, regrettably, still don't own Teen Wolf.  
> Enjoy! ヽ(^◇^*)/

** Stiles’ Point of View: **

On the day after their _mysterious_ departure, the cafeteria had been ominously quiet. The second day, it was chaos. The school hierarchy had been destroyed, and nobody knew whom to turn to, whom to idolise or whom to bully. Every single kid at the school was trying desperately to use this sudden opportunity, this vacuum of power, to rise on the social ladder.

But it barely took a week. Within a week, a new clique of clown-faced girls, who knew more about eyeliner than the importance of family, and testosterone boys who, beneath the posturing, were far too self-conscious to ever just _accept_ diversity, were sitting on thrones behind their desks.

This new-found school order had me running, far and fast, in the opposite direction. I’m a loser again now, and we all know that high school is no place for cowards (Unless you spend all four years of it hiding in libraries and bathrooms... Trust me; I’m an expert in that particular field.). That, and I couldn’t face another day of sitting at that half-empty table. My current lunchtime routine is actually pretty depressing. I sit in the library with Danny and Lydia, despondently poking at my salad/French fries. (I have a certain attitude when it comes to food: _Go big or go home._ ) Danny spends most of it moping around and complaining about his ridiculously handsome Ex-Boyfriend (After careful consideration, we concluded that they had broken up because Jackson is an ass, and Danny definitely did the breaking-up. Also, Jackson changed his Facebook status to Single. _Ouch_.) Lydia on the other hand, does her make-up/does her homework/reads a ridiculously pretentious, _intellectual_ book, and tries to convince herself that she’s here because we need her, not vice versa. It’s safe to say, witnessing any sort of excitement when it’s food time, is a thing of the past. I personally don’t find regular arguments over who has the better dress sense particularly riveting or suspenseful...

So here we are, Friday afternoon, sitting in Danny’s bedroom under excuse of a studying session. See, that sounds like there might be some sort of dangerous, adrenaline-pumping, semi-illegal activity occurring. Alas, we are only lamenting our lack of a social life. At this point, I don’t think my dad would even mind a little rule breaking to put a little light in my eyes...

He knows about werewolves, has for a while. It was the stupidest thing too; he _checked my internet history._ That’s literally all it took. Mind you, that’s a conversation I never want to have again. Try explaining why you searched “ _how to restrain a large dog with metal chains_ ” at 11 pm on a Thursday night. Anyway, Melissa and my dad both know, and they’re shocked and upset on our behalf.

So here I am, listening to Lydia drone on about linear functions and quadratic graphs. A year ago, I would have been thrilled to be within her breathing space. But a lot has changed, and it’s different now. Suddenly, Lydia stops talking. I open my eyes to figure out why, and promptly scream my head off. The lights have gone out. I _freeze,_ squeeze my eyes tight shut, will them back on. I'm trembling as unbidden memories of claws and teeth flashing before my eyes as my heart thrums in my chest. Werewolves are dangerous creatures. What if-

It’s over as quickly as it began. I relax, let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding in. Danny turns to Lydia, “ _Must’ve been a power cut.”_

_“Yeah...”_

I find myself nodding, turn to go to the bathroom. I tell the others I’ll be right back, and amble down the hall. After I’ve finished my business, I am washing my hands in the sink when I look into the mirror, past my pale face and tired eyes, and glimpse something in the corner. A... liquid? One that I have seen before…

***

_Derek retches a vile fluid onto the tiles as his body shudders and convulses. He turns to me, eyes wild, and nearly sobs in pain. “Just do it!”_

***

I glance at the tiles, pull back the curtain, and see the shower wall splattered with a treacly, black substance. _Too thick to be water, too dark to be blood._

***

_The shocking cold of the metal grip startles me back to reality as I watch Derek pant in pain. “Oh my God...” I gasp as the flesh of the wound darkens. Poison trickles down skin, drip drip dripping... Too thick to be water, too dark to be blood._

***

I blink through glassy, teary eyes as my sub-consciousness makes sense of the jumble of letters smeared on the wall.

_I know who you are._

Gagging as memories overtake me, and a fear ignites in my chest. Suddenly, the floor is rushing up to meet me.

** Derek’s Point of View:  **

I’m with the pack, training, when I feel it. Some sort of pain or anguish, some sort of fear blooms in my chest. I turn to see all the betas with varying expressions of shock or confusion. At least the ones who are in my line of sight. But no one is injured... So what _was_ it? It was faint, and faded quickly. I brush it off, perhaps Allison had a headache, or Isaac tripped. They are practicing archery in the northern woods.

_“C’mon guys, let’s get on with it! Pair off, and start practicing partial shifts! No Erica, lose the attitude. It’s about finding an anchor, not letting out suppressed aggression and angst.”_

Female teenage werewolves. _Honestly._

***

The second time we feel it, it is definitely harder to ignore. Flickering through my chest, the unknown emotion bothers me more than I know it should. A phantom pain twinges in my neck, my shoulder, my chest. I ignore it, again. Even though I know I shouldn’t...

I’m still mulling it over when Scott calls my name. I push myself off my bed and follow the sound of his voice, scraping blunted nails through my hair against my scalp as I go. My bones ache as I carefully pull my jacket back on.

Over the next few days, I keep training the betas, keep watching them drive off to school each morning, wait for them to return each night. I am plagued by the worry that one evening, not all of them will walk through these doors. Either because they can’t or because they _won't._

Every now and then I hear a voice I hear a voice in my head, quiet enough to shut out, murmuring, _“It isn't meant to be this hard.”_

***

Allison has taken to using the werewolf training time to research various puzzles and problems. This week, she’s determined to discover the reason for the foreign feelings that even she has been experiencing...

I’m looking through the treaty offer the Dawn Pack has sent out too many werewolf communities, when suddenly Ally is running towards me, waving a battered hard-back in her hand, cheeks flushed. “ _Derek! Derek! I found something, quick, you need to see this!”_ She thrusts the book towards me, breathing laboured with exertion. I grab the book from her hands, open on the page she is so desperate I read. The book is named “ _Folk Lore and Legends on Mythical Creatures_ ”, and scrawled on the stained, yellowed page in messy handwriting, is the following:

_When a pack bond is forged, an emotional bond is created. It is possible for fellow pack-members to feel on another’s emotions, though this often only happens is dire situation. The further away the one is pain, the weaker the feeling._

I look up slowly, horror stirring in my gut as I grasp the implications of the text. Looking up, I know my eyes are pleading with Allison to tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means. _“You don’t think... Do you?”_ The darkness in her eyes confirms my suspicions, and all I can think is, _“Stiles._

 

_Please be okay...”_


	3. Chapter Three: But My Dear, You Are Not Alice And This Is Not Wonderland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! *gulps nervously*  
> I'm sorry I haven't updated in such a long time, but I don't have a lot of free time, and I have a very severe, long-term case of writer's block... (×o×)  
> But here is Chapter 3! THIS IS UNBETAED! Seriously though, feel free to point out mistakes I made, and remember; "comments/kudos= happiness =more updates!"  
> Enjoy!  
> P.S. I know it's all Stiles' POV, but next chappie will deffo have Derek's POV, and maybe some Sterek...? *evil laughter* (◣_◢)

** Stiles’ Point of View: **

As my eyes flutter open, I can hear a gentle, rhythmical thudding that seems to be coming from my left... I can't make sense of it, but I'm feeling sluggish as I fight the strange urge to sleep, so I count it to pass the time.

_One-Two._

_Three-Four._

_Five-Six._

It's getting slower...

_Seven-Eight._

_Nine-_

I've managed to open my eyes, only to see Danny's dark mop of hair, his head hanging, resting limply on his chest...

The dull thudding continues in my ears.

It's coming from Danny’s chest. I can hear Danny’s _heartbeat…_ It sounds chose to bursting out of his chest, strained by some unseen force.

I have no idea what's going on, and I'm about to try and capture Danny’s attention, when I hear the _click-clack_ of claws hitting the floor with every step, followed by a jagged scrape. There is a likely threat and it’s coming from the corridor outside of the grimy basement we seem to be trapped in. My pulse races. No, wait; there are two sets of footsteps. The other being seems to be limping, gait shuffling and uneven.

As the possible enemies come ever closer, I glance around the room; trying to take it all in. Dark cold stone floor and mysterious machinery, ticking, thrumming and whirring... It’s not exactly what one imagines under _‘inviting’_ or _‘normal’,_ or even just ‘ _not the basement laboratory of a psychopath_ ’... _I’m so screwed_.

Danny coughs wetly and shudders. _What do I do? How can I help? What if Danny is dying? Oh my God, where are the pack? Oh, right... They left, they won’t find us, and Danny is going to bleed out on to cold down floors as I lie beside him, watching in agony as one of my only friends’ body slowly turns cold..._ Images flash through my head, snapshots of dripping blood, the seizing sensation of gasping as air refuses to enter my lungs and a high, female scream. _Lydia._

The door creaks open, and I am suddenly unable to focus on anything but the breath of the stranger entering my prison, and a searing pain slowly seeping up my spine.

“ _Hello, Stilinski, Mahealani. I trust you slept well?_ ” A disconcerting, chiming voice pierces my ears, and I sluggishly force my eyes up into a strange face. Pale skin littered with scars and craters, gouged open painfully in places, this is by no means what I was expecting. Yellowed, bloodshot eyes inspect me from puffy, peeling, reddened skin.

Sensations hit me, millions at once, overwhelming me and dragging me under as the putrid smell of rotting flesh hits me, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Unable to focus, single impressions force themselves to centre of my mind, clawing past the barriers I constructed carefully the first time my ADHD set off a panic attack. The scrape of heavy chains against the floor, the slurp and slither of a blackened, forked tongue along empty gums, the fluttering pulse of my dying friend. The faint scent of apple shampoo, buried beneath layers of sweat, salty tears, and the metallic copper tang of blood.

My head snaps up, and _there she is._ Lydia Martin, my beautiful, fearless, brilliant, loyal, perfect crush of seven years. One of my two best (only) friends is _kneeling,_ cowed beside the twisted creature whose eyes are snaking down my pale skin like I am a piece of meat.

 _“No, no, no, you don’t get to do this, it’s all wrong, what happened, who are you?_ ” A hoarse voice rasps desperately, and I realise I am the speaker. I do not receive the answers I beg for.

_What the hell is happening?_

The abomination advancing towards me lets out a wet laugh, forked tongue flicking over cracked, scaled lips. A rasping voice leaves his mouth; _“Well here we are, together at last. The victims of the Hale Pack.”_

 _Hale?_ I can feel my chest seize up at the word. _“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”_ My voice breaks. _“Of course you don’t, why would you? It’s not like I mattered, just another outsider to be disposed of. I was caught literally red-handed,”_ an unhinged giggle leaves his lip, _“my hand buried in the guts of some unfortunate girl I was feeding on. I was barely on the edge of their territory, your territory, yet the tortured me within an inch of my life – and didn’t even have the decency to **finish the job**! So I took it upon myself, as I lay there in the dirt with my organs spilling from my stomach, that I would make them suffer as I had, put them through the endless agony I was forced to endure. And well, when I heard about your unfortunate situation, can you really blame me? You were handed to me on a silver platter!”_ His rage grows throughout his monologue, and I realise that there is a whole world the wolves had sheltered us from. For the first time in my life, and staring death in the face. Death or worse.

The creature smirks at me as it reaches towards my restraints, tightening them to the point of bone breaking agony as he gestures to Lydia... _“Come here, little human. This lever will cause 50 milligrams of pure aconitum to be pumped into the boy’s veins; perhaps it will give him a taste of just how **mind-blowing** a high dose of pain can be? I hope you’ll forgive the pun, but we’ll be wiping his drool from the floors before it’s done. The venom was hard to procure and it was difficult to calculate the perfect dose, but I succeeded, as it was sure I would." _ I watch, baffled, as the reptilian man coos at poor Lydia, rambling almost nonsensically about his achievements as she gazes despondently into emptiness. Terror takes flight, fear ignites in my chest as she simply bows her head and crawls towards said lever. What did he do to torture her in this way, to reduce her to this shivering, mindless wreck?

Our captor continues, mindless of my musings. “Say your farewells, pretty girl, for I am certain you won’t recognise the shell left of this boy after the injection.

I have always prided myself in staying rational and clear headed, but a red haze begins to tint my vision as I plea with the genius.

“ _Please Lydia, Lyds, c’mon it’s me, Stiles, y-you know, I’m St-Stiles! Your, your friend, I'm not gonna hurt you, please don’t hurt me! This isn’t you, please, listen to-_ “

The flow of desperate words is cut off as pain explodes under my skin.

One thud of Danny’s weakened heart, one second, there is silence. It stenches out, infinite, and I realise that if there is a hell, and I am sent there after death... I imagine this sensation is already pretty close to what would feel like. I hear a gasp pass through my own lips.

And then I’m _screaming,_ clawing, twisting, liquid agony pumping through my veins, and the one with his finger on the metaphorical trigger is smirking, insane, maniacal, as cruel, twisted, sickening amusement shows through the cracks of his collected appearance. There are millions of hornets drowning in my blood, poisoning and tainting every inch of my body.

Through the anger, bloodlust, horror and pain, the dots connect and the realisation leaves me reeling.

Aconitum. I remember skimming through dusty, tattered tomes I found in libraries, was handed by Deaton, scoured the internet for.

“ _This poison, aconitum, also known as Monkshood or Wolfsbane-_ ” Wolfsbane. Bane of the Wolf. My mind whirrs a mile a minute, working past the pain, making connections in seconds.

_I am a werewolf._

Lydia sobs on the floor, Danny’s steady pulse hiccups-

_I am being poisoned with the only substance that can kill a werewolf, although in small doses it can build up strength and endurance. A certain amount will not kill, but leave the subject essentially no more than a body on autopilot, incapable of conscious thought or movement beyond reflexes. The being will by this stage be beyond turning to a werewolf, though it will still feel inflicted bodily pain or pleasure._

A grimy talon etches a neat line into my forearm, and the abomination before me holds a vial to my bruised, damaged skin. A malicious light blooms in his eyes.

_Danny is rejecting the venom. He is dying. Lydia is traumatised, but as she was sobbing earlier, aware of what she was doing, there is a possibility I could snap her out of it._

A sharp sound rings through the stale air. I get distracted by dust motes swirling in flurries above me. The harsh neon light sets the air on fire and particles shimmer in its fluorescence. _No. Concentrate_. I tilt my head towards the scene unfolding before me. Lydia must have attempted some sort of resistance as she is currently tripping defencelessly forward as that beast pulls on the chains tying her to him. A growl builds in my throat as I twitch and shiver in an attempt to shake off the pain. A voice a barely recognise as my own echoes through the room, threats, pleas, moans, screams and growls building up into a cacophony of noise that leaves my ears ringing.

A new pain begins in my core. It must be the pain of shifting, but I welcome it, embrace it, _nurture it_. I will destroy the man who dared to go up against my pack. _Pack?_ I don’t have a-

“ _Yes, you do...”_ A voice in the back of my head murmurs, my eyes flit between my two companions and something in my chest spasms and changes. Something stirs within me as I contort against the chains binding me. Animalistic instincts to protect and eliminate the threat rise within in me as my body tears itself apart and reforms into something _other._

My spine splinters, ridges of cartilage stretch the skin of my back, and for a split second, I wonder if I will die here, bound to this machinery, in a darkened basement where no one will hear my screams. A million needles pierce my flesh as hair covers my mutilated back, and elongated canines erupt from bleeding gums. My screams turn to howls and animalistic snarls.   

But then it is over, and I almost laugh at the ignorance of the mutation that changed me. To think that this flimsy metal work could hold me. I watch in satisfaction as his watery eyes widen in horror. A growl rips from my chest as I break free from the contraption and land on my haunches before him. Anger rises in me, my blood singing out for violence, pain, chaos and strife.

With great effort I form words and force them out in a gravelly mutter, the maleficent inflection clear even in my own words.

_“You should have killed me when you had the chance, snake!”_

Then, without remorse, driven by some powerful instinct, I feel razor blades pushing themselves through the soft skin of my fingers. Claws. I pull my arms back, and then I’m driving them home into a scaled chest. Even over my howls of victory, I can hear Lydia’s shrieks and wails.         

 


	4. Chapter Four: Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... I should update more, and I'm doing my best, I'm just ridiculously busy at the moment. That, and I had no idea how to continue this. Hence the boring, terribly written filler-chapter. *sighs forlornly* Oh well... Here, have some weird pre-Sterek interactions.  
> Of course, the fact that Stiles still isn't mine isn't really helping, but what can you do? (DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER BLAH BLAH BLAH)  
> P.S. Feel free to point out typos ;-)
> 
> Leave reviews/kudos and I will love you 5ever!

** Derek's Point of View: **

Time is supposed to be steady. Logically I know that it doesn’t get faster or slower, that it cannot be changed that easily, but over the past few days, time has felt like a living thing. A wild animal that will charge furiously or meander aimlessly at will.

 

There were moments when the seconds would trickle by, and I would feel like I was suspended in this infinite feeling of hopelessness, this surety that our endeavour was doomed to fail. Too late.

 

I would be able to picture a limp body and glassy amber eyes, hidden in the shadows of some godforsaken ditch.

However, there were also times when the hours would slip by, racing ahead of themselves as I sensed Stiles, just out of reach. There was pain too, a gentle ache spreading through my bones, and I can remember the third night that they had been gone. We all felt something shift in our chests as we stood around a map at the table. It was three am, and there were dark violets blooming under Allison’s eyes.  The fruit of too many sleepless nights. Still, not ever our gentle state of almost-slumber could soothe the sudden shock. I could feel a rumble of pent up anger and frustration build in my chest, but reigned myself in as something flickered in Isaac’s eyes that was too akin to fear. The bond- it was... different. Why? We would not know until we found them. Pushing down the emotions rising in my chest, tightening my ribcage and constricting my throat, I took a deep breath, and we continued searching. A little more feverishly, desperately, urgently. Even optimistic, naive, puppy-like Scott began to lose hope as he found Stiles scent fading from him room.

We scoured Beacon Hills in the first 24 hours after the sheriff called us. He blames us, but then again, so do we. We were foolish to leave the heart of our pack; Danny, Lydia, Stiles, in a town known for its many non-human citizens.

We have been running patrols everywhere we can in the region, but the sky is dawning darker day by day. Desperation is lurking underneath the surface, but I refuse to consider what a world without Stiles might mean for me.

***

The area we are scouring does not seem promising as a possible location for Stiles, Lydia and Danny. Empty landscape, old warehouses, the kind of area that has about one visitor a month. We were following yet another scent trail, with no real hope, and were lead to these abandoned warehouses. Jackson and I quickly decide to explore inside when the pack split up into little groups to keep searching. The scent grows every stronger as we stalk silently through the musty shadows, quickly breaking into a run as we hear the first muffled scream. We surge through halls and down stairs, breaking locked doors, the sounds swelling as my pulse rises -

The thoughts passing through my head are obliterated as I take in the sight before me and I cannot help thinking that all the time in the world could not have prepared me for this.

They are here. Our humans are all here. But... they’re not our humans.

Lydia would never sit hunched in a corner like that, blank eyed with tear tracks dried on her face. Danny is lying on the ground beside her, and I try desperately to ignore possible implications of that. Stiles is- Stiles! My eyes have barely registered a bloody, pale face then I’m stumbling towards him. He... He’s got claws, ice-blue eyes. Werewolf. Stiles, a werewolf? I can smell wolfsbane, and I don’t even realise that the growling I hear is Stiles until there are claws sinking into my shins as he swipes. My eyes flash alpha red instinctively and he’s cowering, whimpering as he bares his throat to me. I’m at a loss. I could fight armies for my pack, annihilate monsters, buy them the best weapons to defend themselves, but this? I don’t know how help the volatile creature before me. He’s balancing on a ledge I don’t know how to talk him down from, and I’m afraid for him.

A small, placating step back and I’m talking softly, trying to contact him through the primal haze no doubt dominating his brain.

_“Stiles? Stiles, its Derek. It’s okay, you’re- you’re okay, at least... you will be, promise. But right now, you need to calm down and try to remember who you are. I know it’s hard, but we need you Stiles, please... Look, just- just- I don’t know, okay? Look at me. Please.”_

Suddenly Isaac is at my shoulder, one hand firm on my back, steadying me. He nods, and turns away from me, towards the whimpering form on the tiles. The unspoken message is clear: _I’ve got this_.

The two conscious ones of the newly freed hostages seem at odds with one another, avoiding eye contact. The smell of rotting flesh permeating the air, and he hollowed out cheeks of the humans and new werewolf suggest that they spent most of the time they were gone locked alone in this basement with a corpse. I cannot supress a shudder.

Murmuring words fill the silence as my pack of betas approach their shell-shocked friends. I stand, uneasy, as they seamlessly transition from the desperation of the search to the palpable relief of their lost ones’ presence. I am not the kind to nurture; I never know what to say. A battlefield of reckless demons, a raging inferno, a pack of psychotic alphas... give me a rival to sink my claws into, and I will put my life on the line. However, this is no visible adversary, no clear hostile party. There are some things I cannot protect my pack from, and this not the situation to fight fire with fire. I cannot defeat fear, nor can I chase it away with fiery eyes and wicked claws.

Glancing at the pair to my right, and can see the twitching boy’s trembling form relax from its clenched, protective, almost foetal position. My shoulders sag forwards as I almost collapse with relief when the unnatural brightness of his eyes gives way to sunshine and whiskey. He looks at me with wide frightened eyes and I want to wrap him in my arm and keep him safe. Wait, what? I brush away the confusion at the unknown feelings coursing through me.

The boy before me glances around at the filthy room that must have had scent and sound barriers to keep us away, and horror registers in his expression.

 _“Derek? What have I done?_ ”

I don’t know Stiles, I don’t know.

** Stiles’ Point of View: **

They won’t look at me anymore. I only remember flashes of what happened, of what I did, but even those keep me up at night. Reptilian eyes, the shuffle of bare feet on stone floors, and the _dripdripdrip_ of a liquid too dark to be blood. Danny is still in a coma; Jackson hasn’t left his beside since the blood transfusion. Lydia’s been having flashbacks; she spaces out for hours on end, glassy-eyed and obedient as dog. But she’s getting better. I’m not. I don’t know who I am now, and by the worried, yet almost suspicious side glances I’ve been getting, neither does anyone else. Violence is addictive, a fact testified by the holes in the wall of my room. The pack moved back to beacon hills after they found us, but who knows how long that will last... There’s a pressure building under my skin, and not the kind that wanes and waxes with the moon.

I’m going to snap soon. I need to make sure there’s no one around to get hurt when I do. I’m dangerous now.

Derek, my father and Melissa, Scott’s mum, agreed that the pack should move in together. Both parents understand the importance of the bond, and although they are still furious and Derek’s stupidity, they understand the reasoning behind it. So, the plan is that we all live together in a no doubt ridiculously large mansion on the edge of town, warding off evil, one _big, happy family_. The rumour mills are going to have a field day with this.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that I don’t trust myself enough to sleep in the vicinity of those important to me. I’ve been having nightmares. Not the kind you can brush of and tell a funny story about at the breakfast table. _Oh, no_. The kind that blur the lines between dream and reality, infuse daylight with flashes of pure, undiluted horror. I have been waking with my own claws sunk into my thighs, sobbing and growling simultaneously. The kind you lock in a box in the back of your mind until the sun sets, and monsters creep out from under your bed.

 


	5. Can You Hear The Silent Screaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure most of you are now used to my ridiculously infrequent updates, so I'm not even gonna apologize. I have been experiencing an unfortunate combination of lack-of-time and writer's block. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I know this still isn't really Sterek, but I'll get there, I promise!  
> Disclaimer: If I owned Teen Wolf, Sterek would have been canon first season...

**Stiles' Point of View:**

The headaches have been continually worsening, my mind pulsing with beastly, brutal urges to maim and wound, to protect those I love and raise my hackles and _snarl_. Like an animal... like a wolf. And yet; the strength of the wolf is the pack. My pack flinch at the sound of my name, and I honestly can’t blame them.

It’s not just the headaches that are troubling me, I am also unable to sleep more than a few hours a night. I lose myself as I am torn between fantasy and reality, my mind plagued with distorted, mocking voices and the image of cold scales splattered with dried blood. There are nightmares in which the dark veins of my wrists spread through my body like cracks until I shatter, and I drown in an ocean of glittering tears.

***

_“Stiles, look... I just don’t think I’m ready to hang around you yet.”_

_“Bro, just give them some time, okay?”_

_“We get it, Stilinski. It wasn’t your fault; you’re so sorry, blah, blah, blah. Just give it a rest!”_

_“Look, I know you mean well, but... I- I just- I can’t see you right now.”_

***

The longer I have to endure slammed doors and people coldly hanging up on me, the harder it gets to convince myself that things will be okay again...

**Derek's Point of View:**

I know he is far from normal, okay or even just coping. Far from _Stiles._ But none of us are okay, and what can I do to help him anyway? Half of my pack won't, or can’t, look each other in the eye, yet I cannot dispel those saddened eyes from my mind, once incessantly bright and eager, now flat and empty.

We notice his absence of mind in every lull of conversation, in the lack of witty wisecracks to ease the tension. My breath lurches in my  throat at the sight of his hollow cheeks and trembling breaths, my own proud posture crumbles to match his hunched form. As the new wolf further isolates himself, I cannot help but bitterly think that if this happened to anyone else, if they lost themselves in this manner, that Stiles would know what to do. However, we are at a loss, because his is the glassy gaze that will not leave the floor.

I am a warrior, _destroyer,_ some say monster. I am no protector, unable to heal or hold those dear to me.

The fatigue must finally be getting to me, I’m tired, and not sure if I make sense anymore. Even in my own head. I. Just. Want. Him. _Back._

**Stiles' Point of View:**

I’m a porcelain doll, frozen and cold, the same expression etched into my features and the same thoughts running through my head. I won’t bend under force or pressure, I’ll break. Shatter. And on bad days, I not even sure that I mind leaving the others to pick up the pieces.

I know what they’re doing; the pack can’t help me, so they don’t touch me. There are no kind words for Stiles, no hugs or gentle touches. No one offers to sit at my bedside or skip school with me. My jealousy towards Lydia and Danny is unkind and by no means fair, yet no conversations peter out when they enter a room. There are no second glances thrown their way, and nobody tenses at the sight of them...

They're both trying to act normal around me, but I can imagine how hard it is after hat they witnessed that night. I'm Stiles, I'm supposed to be safe, That night they saw me turn into a killer, and yes, yes the creature was monstrous, but I left something behind in that building. A piece of my innocence.

**Derek's Point of View:**

The pack is sitting in yet another awkward silence, the only sounds being muffled breathing and the muted ticking on the clock on the wall in the kitchen. And even the breathing stops when Stiles shuffles in. Ignoring the tangible change when he entered, the boy stumbles over to the large sofa inhabiting Jackson and Danny, his lost gaze breaking some small, forgotten part of my heart as I see myself in it.

As Stiles is about to lower himself onto the plush cushions, when Jackson suddenly registers this and quickly clears his throat, placing an arm around Danny.

_“Look, ah, hey Stiles? Maybe you should just sit somewhere else, okay? I-I’m not sure if we’re comfortable with you sitting there, so-“_

Stiles’ pain spreads through my core as I feel the dilapidated ruin of the pack’s bond to him catch flame. There’s something in his eyes now, but it isn’t a spark; it’s a shadow.

** Stiles' Point of View: **

There’s a box in the back of my head, into which I have been carefully placing everything that I deemed _‘unsafe’_ to think about, in an attempt to protect others from me. With merely two sentences Jackson has undone all the carefully constructed blocks and defenses in my mind. Emotion rushes through me, and suddenly I am alive again.

My mind is a teeming nest of terrible thoughts, of all the things I sought to hide from. Rage courses through my veins and my heart beats like a war drum. The words are tumbling from my lips before I can stop them, phrases that have been on the tip of my tongue ever since that night.

 _“You don’t want me to sit, Jackson? Why, scared? Do I scare you? Oh, don’t worry; I scare myself on a good day. But please, I think I have a right to know. So tell me, Jackson, Scott, Derek.”_ My voice breaks on the last name, “ _When do I get the happy ending that I killed for. Because this, this is not what I wanted! Do you know how it hurts when you flinch away from me? I can’t, I can’t-_ “ I’m  gasping between words now, eyes glistening as I try to hold it together. I want to make them hurt like I have been hurting, every hour of every day.

_“We can’t all be brave and beautiful. Some of us make mistakes. Some of us get scared. But I’m still Stiles. I’m not a werewolf. I’m not a killer, but I can’t fix this, so please, p-please help me. I-I can’t. Fix. This.”_

Suddenly the ground rushes toward me as I topple forwards, and voices explode as I begin to suffocate. Some faraway part of my mind registers a panic attack, but I’m to occupied trying to fill my lungs with air. I clasp hands over my sensitive ears, and am startled by the alpha’s grow cutting through the chaos. He commands me to breath is a tone I cannot disobey.

So I do, for what feels like the first time in weeks.


	6. Of Beasts And Beauties And Those Who Are Both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words. No apologies for my sporadic, spontaneous updates. (I know this chapter is weird and all over the place, but bear with me. I'll get there.) Life just gets in the way sometimes, I just hope you haven't lost interest. I don't own Stiles... yet. REVIEWS AND COMMENTS ARE LOVE.  
> Enjoy!  
> (P.S. Happy Coming Out Day!)

** Stiles' Point Of View: **

I don’t remember anything after my collapse, but I wake up this morning in my warm bed, covers drawn over my body. I rub my eyes and glance around my dark little abode before padding barefoot downstairs, yawning as I go. The sight that greets my eyes is undoubtedly a strange one.

The vast majority of the pack freeze in the motions of making breakfast. Danny and Jackson are cuddling by the toaster, Lydia and Isaac inhaling coffee sleepily at the table, Scott and Allison quietly conversing by the counter and Derek gazing steadily at me from across the room. Erica and Boyd have yet to appear (both have a passionate dislike for mornings and interacting with other human beings before noon). I shuffle forward, rubbing at my eyes, when suddenly there’s a hand on my shoulder. I flinch away from Derek’s sudden touch, and am startled to see a brief look of hurt flicker in his eyes before he gestures for me to follow him out, stating that we “need to talk”. I shiver a little at the thought, yet nod quickly, and exit the way I came, ignoring the confusingly sad stares of the others on my back.

** Derek's Point Of View: **

As I watch his skinny frame stumble ahead of me, I cannot help wishing that he would fill the silence. I am abruptly acutely aware of how much I miss the inane comments the once-human used to constantly make, I long for the teen with absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter who was always able to prevent others feeling uncomfortable. I am quick to brush away these unwelcome thoughts, and try to dispel all fond memories of Stiles replaying in my mind. I shouldn’t be pining after a boy who deserves so much better.

“What is it, Alph- Derek-... Sir?” I watch Stiles stutter and struggle with the way to address me, and that’s all it take to set off a flow of words I am unable to keep to myself.

_“Derek is fine, Stiles, Derek has always been fine. I need to apologise, though I know there’s no way to make up for the way we have treated you, I need you to know that this was no intention of mine. I hoped that giving you space would help you recover, but it seems time to think was the last thing you needed. We, no I, should have been there, and I’m sorry for letting you down. I’ve never been good at talking, and now it seems I haven’t even been listening. I convinced myself things were okay because I want them to be so badly. I’m sorry. I just- That’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry.”_

**Stiles' Point Of View:**

I don’t think. He finishes speaking, eyes wild as he reaches forward, towards me, but seems to pull himself back at the last moment. My mind registers the gesture and I am struck by a relief almost crippling, at the thought of his acceptance. I don’t think, and suddenly I’m surging forwards, pressing my mouth against his, desperately trying to show my thanks for his apology.

Yet there is nothing soft or forgiving about this. Beneath it all, it has an angry edge as I tug none too gently at his hair, trying to drive a reaction from him. I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove to him, I just know that I want, in some sense, for him to also be aware of the pain he inflicted on me. He must sense the thoughts racing through my mind, because he pushes me gently against a wall, his grip heavy and comforting as Derek slants his hot mouth over mine. I gasp softly against his lips, when my alpha tears himself away from and lurches backwards, raising a hand to his lips in shock.

“ _Stiles, you don’t have to- I didn’t want-“_ He mutters half sentences as he runs a hand through his hair, before emitting something almost like a grow and turning to race out of the room. My lips tremble as I try to comprehend my mistake. I must have misjudged his interest in me, I think miserably as hot tears of shame pool in my eyes.

** Derek's Point Of View: **

I sprint outside as I feel my skin ripple in the beginnings of a shift forced by the anger searing through me. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss him, I’ve thought of Stiles more than I should, been plagued with images of amber eyes and pale skin dotted with moles. But this, this is not what I wanted. For him to kiss me like he had, full of anger and uncertainty and longing, like he was afraid of something. Then again, he has every right to be, I realise with disgust. I’m a monster, with no control. I couldn’t deserve him in a hundred lifetimes. In that room, all I had been able to think about was either to escape the flood of feelings crushing me, or risk drowning.

I can hear my betas, all but one, call to me in confusion as they sense the surge of emotions, however I do nothing but block them out. As I give myself over to the wolf growling within me, I hear a whispered apology flutter in the corners of my consciousness. _“No,”_ I tell him firmly, sensing his sadness, “ _You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing._ ”

It is I who must repent, I accept bitterly as I disappear into the darkness. I will never be deserving of you.


	7. Promises, Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I can't thank you all enough for supporting me, especially the people who take the time to comment and leave kudos! I've only got a couple more chapters planned for this story, so let me know if you're interested in a sequel! ;) I've got some ideas, but I'm not sure about posting it yet - just tell me what you think below, and I will love you forever! Seriously though, you people deserve unicorns, every last one of you...
> 
> P.S. As always, I'll be eternally grateful to anyone who points out typos XD

** Stiles’ Point of View: **

I’m numb. Void. The fragile shell I have become is crumbling, yet I cannot find the strength within me to mind. Stumbling up the steps to the house, I glance glassy-eyed at Erica’s stricken face, wearily avoid Scott’s dumbfounded gaze and clamber up the stairs to my room. Throwing the door shut behind me, I begin haphazardly throwing belongings into my school backpack, confused until I realise the cause for my blurring vision is the liquid dripping down my cheeks.

** Derek’s Point of View: **

I always relished in the therapeutic process of shifting, the feeling of being reduced to my most basic, primal form, to that fight-or-flight instinct. However, perhaps I should have considered that a wolf, more specifically my wolf, feels that its greatest goal is the sheltering of its loved ones.

The animal within me has always been completely and unconditionally protective of Stiles, sure that he is our mate. This is probably an apt explanation for the fact that the minute I shift the two halves of me are being torn in separate directions. One telling me to do battle for these Feelings, wage a war against myself, the other half is absolutely terrified, desperate to run from the wave of emotions I am overcome with. Fight or flee.

It’s not a choice. It never was, not with Stiles. There has never been any sort of logic or voice of reason within me when it comes to him – the big eyed boy who will be so strong for his friends, but crumples when they turn away. I will always choose him; and that terrifies me. I would gladly choose his life over my own, yet there is a dark corner of my mind teeming with 3 am delusions and nightmares in which I know that there are also other lives I would sacrifice to protect his. Lives that aren’t mine to take. My love for him – because I have come to realise that despite my fears, that is exactly what this has always been - is the kind that drowns helpless victims, starts wars, burns beyond recognition. Blessing. Curse.

I am suddenly standing in front of the pack house again, with no knowledge of how or when the path in my sub consciousness changed and my wolf lead me back here. The scent of salt and sadness is heavy in the air. I have managed to ruin the one thing I _need_ to do right. I don’t ask the other werewolves where he is, nor do I attempt to trace his scent in the air. I can feel him, as I always have. I have been pretending for so long – concealing feelings, trying desperately not to cry – now that I’ve finally just accepted this for what it is, it’s tearing me apart.

Opening the door, I promptly end up with an armful of sobbing, shaking human. Stiles quickly pushes himself away from me, eyed wide with unshed tears. I instinctively reach after him, but the emotion in his eyes scarily akin to fear has me pulling back at the last second.

 _“I’m sorry, so sorry, I just thought that maybe- I’ll do better Alpha, please don’t send me away, I’m sorry…”_ His voice is a broken CD stuck on a loop, repeating the same fearful chords he has been uttering for the past few weeks. I am struck dumb in the face of his anguish, and realise I have failed yet again. Looking around at shadowed eyes and tense expressions, the horrific thought strikes me that if we continue down this path, Stiles won’t be the only broken link of this pack. But I can’t run. I won’t lose my family a second time – I gather the last remnants of strength within me, and steel myself for the task before me.

I glimpse the battered red suitcase behind my mate, and find it takes a great deal of effort not to sink to my knees before this motley collection of strange souls I call family.

** Stiles’ Point of View: **

I am sorely tempted to run nonetheless, to escape this minefield of sad gazes and people who think they understand yet _don’t_. However, when Derek calls a pack meeting, I relent. One last chance, one last time.

So here we sit, no one daring to break the silence, yet all yearning for a chance to voice our thoughts. Derek is the one who finally dares to murmur the fear we have each carried within us in some form, festering quietly next to our hearts.

_Can this still work, or is it too late?_

I know what I’m hoping, but seeing as my failure was what set this unfortunate series of events I motion, it’s hardly fair of me to expect such sacrifice from the others. Maybe they should just cut their losses, I can hardly begrudge them that. There’s nothing left to keep them here, I’m still clinging to the shards of broken dreams. I glance across the room, quick enough to catch Derek staring at me with the eyes of a man who carries his world on his back.

The deep timbre of his gruff voice shocks he from my musings. _“Stiles, I know you think that what happened was somehow a misjudgement on your part, that you misread my feelings, and I just want to reassure you that isn’t true. I’m sorry if my actions gave you that impressions. Running from you was not one of my finer moments.”_ He attempts a sheepish half grin, but it just looks pained. His words register, and I huddle into the armchair, embarrassed that he felt the need to apologise. He frowns, and I shrink further. I can’t seem to do anything right…

He continues, speaking in a way that leaves no room for discussion, _“I’ve failed everyone, but most of all, I’ve failed you. In an attempt to protect you, I drove you away. I hope you can give me a second chance.”_

 _“A chance for what?”_ I speak shyly, unsure, eyeing at his face from under my lashes.

_“A chance to court you, properly, as I should have from the beginning. I want you to be your boyfriend, mate, even just friend. Anything you’ll have me as.”_

_“It’s cruel to mock, Derek.”_ My voice trembles as I will it to be strong, attempting to reign in the first flutters of hope blossoming in my chest.

 _“I know it is sweetie, don’t cry.”_ His voice cracks as he starts slowly across the room towards me, raising his arms as if to placate a skittish animal. _“I need you to know that I’m serious. I would never hurt you, Not intentionally…”_ He corrects his statement with a pained grimace. When my alpha is standing before me and I offer no resistance, he gathers me into his arms as one would a child, a loved one, someone who has been broken and needs to be held together. I’m not sure which applies to me, but, for now, I’ll take what I can get. Maybe things will be okay.

***

I’m the revenant, the survivor, the one who walked through the flames – I have scars, more than most, and yes, although Lydia wants to pretend that we are fine and nothing has changed, although Scott doesn’t hug me anymore for fear of hurting me, they are trying. Trying not to flinch away from the sight of my disfigured back, trying to acknowledge my trauma without dwelling on the irreversible damage I have suffered. Yet I cannot expect their compassion without their trying to ignore or nullify the effect my experience has on me, as they will not come to terms with my situation until I myself have begun to accept it. Similarly, to how I will not, cannot, indulge my wistful feelings for Derek until I feel comfortable enough with myself to even consider what another person’s possible affection might mean to me.

Perhaps it’s selfish of me to wallow in my own misfortune is such a manner. None of us are the normal teenagers we were a year ago, and you don’t know what I would give to be the unspectacularly average kid I was. It’s funny how quickly grief forced us to grow up.

That being said, there are some people who just refuse to be worn down or disillusioned by the world, and I am immeasurably grateful for that. I observe Isaac and Jackson rolling on the floor in what seems to be some sort of wrestling-tickling war, and feel a small smile grace my lips.


	8. All That Glitter, And All That Gold

**Stiles' Point of View:**

_“Danny, you know you’re my partner-in-crime and I love you, but I am seriously considering vehicular theft to escape your clutches…”_ I whine from the passenger seat as we drive to my own personal form of hell, otherwise known as Beacon Hills Mall.

 _“Stiles, it’s time for some tough love darling. You’ve been whiling away in a half-empty house for weeks, and Lydia is going to flip if she sees one more crumpled plaid shirt that’s been washed so many times it’s about 3 sizes too small.”_ Danny send me a dimpled smile of apology, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses with the satisfaction of getting me out of the house. I may have mumbled and moaned, but it was all for show. The sun feels good on my face…

***

_“No.”_

_“Stiles…”_

_“ **No!** ”_

_“Please? Please, please, please – you’ll thank me later, I promise.”_

_“I doubt I will ever be grateful to you for dressing me like the gothic female sidekick in a trashy comic!”_ My exasperated tone holds just a hint of excitement as Lydia squeals into her hands with barely concealed glee.

I don’t recognise the being before me in the mirror, but after the last few months I think there might be nothing better than escaping my skin for a few hours.

Doe eyes rimmed with smoky black glance back at me from a pale face, glowing skin splattered with moles. Plump, pink lips are pulled into an almost-smile as I take in my carefully styled, satiny black hair – the disarray of raven black locks rumpled in a way that I can only describe as “sexy bedhead”. But the clothes are what really cause this out-of-body feeling. Sinfully tight black jeans that look practically painted-on, and a wine red hoodie with the emblem of some obscure band in blocky letters across the front. I look like myself, just – upgraded. There’s an edge to the waif with ghoulish eyes in the mirror, a glint in his eyes that state the innocence his young face suggests is perhaps just that – no more than a suggestion; an idealistic notion discarded in the past. I like it.

Simultaneously to my musings Lydia has appeared behind my reflection brandishing a vaguely terrifying mascara wand and a pair of _ridiculously_ high Jimmy Choos _. “Guess what! To celebrate your rediscovered social life, we’re going clubbing!”_ Her enthusiasm is infectious, and who am I to deny a lady what she wants? I take a deep breath and follow her out of her bedroom.

** Derek’s Point of View: **

I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it before we set off, and that fact has remained an unshakeable certainty in my mind. The combination of a fairly new werewolf, strobe lights and enough alcoholic beverages to inebriate even a flock of pixies? Not a high point of my personal decision making.

The only apt description for Stiles on the dance floor is _debauched._ Wild eyes and swollen lips as red as sin as he twines his body around Lydia’s, sending a playful wink over his shoulder at me. His beauty breaks my heart in my chest, and I remember the first time I saw him.

***

_It has been a long day, a tiring week, an agonising month and a horrific year. I lost my family to flames I could have prevented, and am know living alone in the charred remains of the only home I even knew. I’m hanging by a thread, and the two boys stumbling out of the woods onto my territory finally tip the balance._

_The pressure within me builds as I advance towards the pair, yet I am suddenly pulled short by a glimpse of the younger boy’s face. An unidentifiable yet not entirely unknown emotion courses through me as I take in the upturned nose and amber eyes like warm honey. I am immediately disgusted by my own fickle body’s betrayal, yet cannot help the strange sense of rightness that fills me as the stranger stumbles towards me. I can see the curiosity blooming on his face as he becomes aware of my presence._

***

Of course, my earlier actions quickly catch up with me. The evenings tipping point is an overeager blonde making her way up to Stiles, unbeknown to him. I see her advance, and guess what’s coming next, hurrying through the crowd in an attempt to delay the inevitable. A glimpse of dyed hair, meticulously curled, has my steps speeding up. But I’m too late, and I enter the scene moments after Stiles has vanished into the crowd, stumbling in the direction of the toilets on the far side of the room.

The state he is in when I find him isn’t pretty. I’m unsure of what I was expecting, but the reality is still shocking. Makeup running in dark rivulets down his cheeks, fists clenched in his tangled hair and sporadic sobs leaving his form almost violently.

 _“She touched me, and there was so much noise! Derek, there were flashing lights and so many smells! I knew what she was **feeling** , I could practically taste the desperation she was drenched with. She tried to **kiss me** …”_ His eyes fix on me scathingly. _“And you weren’t there.”_

The insinuation hangs heavily in the air between us.

I crouch down beside the boy, and place a hand gently on his shoulder, and the twitch that follows is almost small enough to ignore. Almost. He turns slowly, a mall frown gracing his brow. “Am I ever going to be normal again?” His voice is more curious and matter-of-fact than saddened. _“I don’t know, but I will be with you every step of the way to find out.”_ I reply quietly yet surely, and turn to place a gentle kiss on his wet cheek. His lips move quickly to move mine, and we kiss gently, trading affection on the dirty bathroom floor. I can feel the dull thump of the beat through the walls and the water covering the tiles is soaking through my jeans, but right now I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty much done with this story. Finally. :) Thanks to those who stuck around, through sporadic updates and ridiculously boring filler chapters.  
> Want a sequel? I'm game if you are; let me know in the comments.  
> That's it then, for now ;)
> 
> -xxx


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